It's a Dad's Life: Ssshh, the elder is asleep and it's not even 7.30pm. Incredible scenes in the Brophy house tonight. Feeling a wee bit fatigued myself this evening, I went AWOL during monster feeding time for a powernap to recharge.
Having just snuggled up into the blissfully child-free marital bed and sensing the impending release of unconsciousness, I heard the steady tread of four-year-old on the stairs. I settled the face into a mask of deep sleep in anticipation of the inevitable onslaught. Instead I got, "Daddy, will you help me put on my nightie? I'm really tired too." Shocked by this new tactic of compliance, I was lulled from my false slumbers and realised immediately, by the expression on her face, she was genuine. Some 15 minutes later little-girl snores filled the air, two hours earlier than usual.
The reason for this new-found adult-only time in our lives? School, blessed school. She is worn down and out by the emotional, physical and mental trials of entering the education system.
All last week we had the build-up. I heard the horror stories: the screams, the wails and shrieks, the tearing away from sheltering hands to seek comfort in the warmth of a hug. And all the while the kids looking on in embarrassment at their demented parents.
I prepared well. She got the new uniform on in the living room a few days earlier and did a private fashion show for her parents. To avoid drawing any attention to herself, the Missus screamed at the elder, "Ha-ha-ha, look at Daddy, he's crying! Aahh isn't he cute". I left the room in a dignified silence, but I knew the worst was over and could face the school-gate separation without fear.
The day came and went without drama. We got the times wrong and had to hover round the yard for an extra half hour before junior infants were admitted, but that allowed the elder a vantage point from which she could peruse her new colleagues as they arrived. I could practically hear her mind turn over - "she's got pretty clips, she'll do . . . I like her Barbie bag . . . her hair is really shiny . . . uurrgh, he's a boy". By the time we were allowed in, she was hoofing us on up the road, probably thinking: "Laters Daddio, thanks for investing your life in me but I gotta chill with my new homies here and you are cramping my scene with that middle-aged, corduroy look you got going on." I took the hint, grabbed the Missus, and fled for a strong coffee.
The elder seems to experience things and express herself in times of stress in frighteningly similar ways to my own younger self. But she seems so much more self-assured than I am even now. She knew this was her first big step away from home, outside the family. Everyone had been in her ear for weeks in advance: "Are you excited about school?" She was nervous and fearful and she went and pumped herself up and threw herself into it, knowing instinctively it would be the easiest way to make the transition.
That's what makes me most sad: at some level she knew she had to make this step and that there was no real choice. She was ready for it and she didn't fight. While I had often fantasised about all the extra time and space that would open up when she pottered off to school, when the moment came I wanted her to not be able to walk off on us. But she could, quite easily. However hard or easy it was for her (and I can't say for sure), she wanted to step out into the world.
